Accidents Happen!
by Rage.edit
Summary: A Ilovejorja/Rage.Edit collaboration.  Grissom and Sara hurt themselves. Smut eventually...GSR. and a thanks to ILJ for helping me write this.  Read and Review!
1. Sterile

**AN: Okay this is our second attempt at a collabaration  
Read and review and we'll write more.  
That's if you want more. So tell us!**

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**Sterile**

He fell.  
It was an absurd moment. When your vision goes blurry and the floor can't come slowly enough.  
Moments when the floor is moving in extreme slow motion toward you. When it does hit you, for a moment it feels like relief...until ya move.  
Nick, Greg, and Warrick all saw the whole thing from the Denali and god did it make their own testicles shrink at the sight.  
Sara felt him fall more than saw it happen. Her Grissom Spidey-sense kicked in.  
She sensed he was in pain-then she turned around and saw him drop.  
At first she thought he'd been shot so she rushed over to help him.

He wheezed out in a very angry sob, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Then she noted the lack of blood and the raised tendons on his neck, the tears around his tightly clenched eyes, his mouth open in painful 'O' and the classic telltale 'hands clutching balls' position.

She snickered.

Even Catherine pissed herself, laughing at her boss, who was trying hard not to move from his foetal-like position on the floor.

Grissom wanted to die.

He wanted the hot desert earth to open up and swallow him. He was so embarrassed and in pain too.  
It happens at least once in a man's life...and getting cloncked in the gonads HURTS!  
Maybe he should have gone around it like most normal people, or moved it like he was told to, but, no!  
The whimsical scientist had to prove himself and go over the crime scene kit and in turn hit the nail on the head, so to speak.  
Grissom stepped over the box successfully but got his foot caught in the string of the camera and fell forward.  
His grand self preservation technique was to extend his arms and, in turn, drop his crime scene kit, which landed awkwardly on its side, allowing the blunt corner of the case to contact his precious man jewels.

Unimaginable pain ripped through him from his scrotum to his stapes and Grissom's first thought was, '_GOD I'M NEVER GOING TO HAVE KIDS.'_  
But that was quickly quenched with the feeling of bile in his throat.  
A series of 'Oohs' came from the men in the car along with the feeling of sympathy.  
But Catherine and Sara both found humour to it... though if they were dudes, they'd probably understand.

Warrick and Nick both helped their fearless leader into his town house and carefully, with much effort, lowered him to the couch. Greg busied himself preparing an ice pack for Grissom's bruised fruits.

Catherine drove the evidence to the lab and Sara watched as her lover groaned in pain.

Her thought as this point was _'How long until we can have sex again?'_She had to admit that in this state he looked cute and vulnerable, aside from the fact that he'd squished his berries and may become a eunuch.

Warick, Greg, and Nick said their condolences and left silently.

"Let me see," she whispered.

He promptly opened his belt and undid the buttons, and thanked the heavens that they _were_ buttons and not a zipper. Grissom carefully slid the boxers down as best he could. Sara noted the heavy sacks...angry and inflamed...and she could honestly say the sight scared her.

"Jesus, Gil, I'm calling Al!"

Grissom rolled his eyes and grimaced for the thousandth time that night._ Shit!_


	2. Ouch!

**Read and review Please!  
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**Ouch!**

Sara finally found a diversion. It seemed to happen quite naturally. A new animal shelter/rescue center opened a block away from the home she shared with Grissom. Sara stopped in on a whim and immediately felt at home. There were dogs and puppies everywhere, some in crates, some underfoot, and an assortment of other pets–hamsters, ferrets, birds, etc., in cages and on counters and perches around the big room. Sara fell into conversation with a friendly volunteer, and when she was asked if she'd like to give some of the dogs a walk from time to time, she instantly agreed.

Visiting the rescued dogs was a great way to relieve stress, get some exercise, have some laughs, and remind herself that some stories have happy endings. This was a no-kill shelter, so there wasn't the worry that her new furry pals had a death sentence looming over them. The dogs were so grateful for any kindness and attention, and so enthused about every venture on a leash, that it always gave her a smile.

"Got a new fella today," Eileen told Sara as she breezed in one afternoon. "A Rottweiler. He's a handful."

Sara bent over and greeted the newcomer in his crate. The big young dog leaped and scrabbled at the metal links in excitement.

"Careful," Eileen warned. "He doesn't know how strong he is. Owners were too old and frail to handle him."

Sara just smiled and got a leash. As she bent to slide open the crate door, the dog crashed through and sprang in the air. She stepped forward to try to control him and clip on his leash. The Rottie jumped on his hind legs and pushed off with his front legs. One large paw punched her hard in her right breast.

"Ouch! Ow! Dammit! Down, dog!" Sara yelled. That was really painful. Especially since her breasts were already tender from it being that time of the month. She finally grabbed the dog, got him leashed and he tore out of the building and down the street. He jumped and darted in all directions, got himself wrapped around every tree and sign, and half pulled Sara's arm out of its socket. Sara, frustrated, finally dragged him back to his crate, shoved him inside, and caught her breath.

"That's the last time I get you out," she muttered. "You weren't kidding," she told Eileen in a louder voice. "This boy needs to run. Work off some steam!"

Studiously avoiding the energetic Rottweiler for the rest of her visit, Sara played with a new litter of spaniel puppies until her good mood was restored.

Two days later, Sara and Grissom were lying in bed. It was their lovemaking time, two hours before shift and after a good night's sleep wrapped in each other's arms. Grissom began his careful, attentive, and erotic foreplay by running his large hands up and down Sara's lean naked body. From the tips of her toes to her fingertips and back, reveling in the expanse of smooth soft skin. Sara kissed him and explored his chest, shoulders, and back with her hands in turn.

Grissom rolled her over and cupped her right breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb and smiling at her reaction. He squeezed it lightly. She flinched. He froze.

"Sara."

"Hmm?" she said lazily.

"Sara," his voice was frightened. "What's this?"

"What?"

"It's a...I think it's..." he was afraid to say the word, to admit it was true. "It's a lump."

"Oh!" she gasped, leaning forward and examining her breast. Grissom guided her fingers to his discovery, and they traced the marble-sized lump and squeezed it gently.

The couple exchanged a scared look.

"I'll call my doctor." Her voice trembled.

Without further discussion, they got out of bed and dressed. Sara dug out her OB/GYN's number from her Rolodex and dialed the number.

"Shit." A recorded message told her to call back during office hours. It was late evening.

"What do we do?"

"Uh. Go to work. Call first thing in the morning," Sara decided, her mind racing.

So they did.

Sara was told to come in right away for an exam and a mammogram. Grissom went along and held her hand in the waiting room, with a worried expression. He stood and paced when Sara went back into the examining rooms. A series of images and words streamed unbidden through his mind. Biopsy. Surgery. Mastectomy. Chemo. Hair loss. Radiation. Nausea. Weight loss. Good lord, Sara didn't have any weight to lose! And to be sick–lose all that gorgeous chestnut hair–lose her smile–lose her energy and appetite-lose a breast, maybe both–even her life-it was alarming and painful to think about.

So he was startled to hear Sara's laugh–Sara's distinctive throaty smile-inducing laugh–floating through the wooden doors to the waiting room. There was another wait and then Sara flung open the door, strode to him, and gave him a big hug and a giant smile.

"Honey?" Grissom asked, puzzled.

"You'll never guess," she said, her voice light. "That lump is a bruise! The doctor saw some discoloration. Told me cancerous lumps usually don't hurt...and asked how I could have gotten a bruise there. A hematoma. I remembered that dog, that Rottweiler, that I told you about?"

Grissom nodded, still trying to figure out why she was so happy.

"Damn dog punched me in the boob. I'm fine. I'm fine!" she yelled. They laughed in relief, holding hands and practically skipping to the car.


	3. Printless

**Print-less**

Sara was at work. Hank was sulking in the corner because he peed on Grissom again, and in haste of rushing out of the bedroom, the dumb dog knocked the clock off the wall. All the components to the clock were scattered along the floor.  
"Dumb-shit dog" he mumbled under his breath as he collected the pieces.  
This was going to be a great recovery effort and was going to take a lot of time.  
The piece looked like a circular saw blade about 6 inches in diameter, only it was blun,t and one of the teeth was bent. If he could bend it back into shape it would work again.  
So he tried. Grissom balanced the plate on his knee and started to bend it back into shape.  
It gave a little.

"Come on you bitch!" Grissom gritted out between clenched teeth.

It gave a little more and then the disc flew up in the air and landed with a clank on the floor.  
Grissom clenched his thumbs to his hands, as something didn't feel right. His thumbs were throbbing...not sore, just...throbbing.

He dared a peek at the left one, turned his palm to face him and quickly lifted his thumb.  
It was bright pink as the very new skin was revealed underneath it as it started to pump out blood.  
Quite a lot, so he clamped his thumb back down to his hand till his thumb turned white.

_Shit!_

Almost comically he braved a peek at his other thumb. Same story only a lot more blood.

Grissom started to panic, he was going to bleed to death before Sara got home!  
He ran into the kitchen carrying his thumbs in his fists.

A series of thoughts ran though his head. _Do I call 911 and pick up what's left of my thumbs and ask them to sew them back on? Or do I call Sara and ask her to come home and fix my digits?_The sticky blood was oozing through his fingers so he squeezed tighter and ran up the stairs to use the phone. Grissom had to call the number with his little fingers. It looked ridiculous, like the scene in Edward Scissorhands when he tries to pick up the pea.

"Hey lover," Sara answered, recognizing the caller ID.

"Sara I need you come home quick! I have a problem."

"Can it wait?"

"Not really."

"I get off work in an hour...if you wait I'll make it up to you," she said in a sing-song voice.

"I don't think I'll be alive in an hour."

"It's not that bad...Is it?"

The dog went legging down the stairs to try and eat the tasty goodness of Grissom's thumbs.

"Hank NO! BAD DOG!" Hank scampered off, tail between legs, back into the bedroom.

"The dog is trying to eat my thumbs."

"What!"

"That's why I need you to come home...I've had an accident."

"I'm on my way!"


End file.
